


Save You, Save Me

by ellu19estewanii



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Coming of Age, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, There's plot in this I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellu19estewanii/pseuds/ellu19estewanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had the chance to save the one you love beyond the grave, would you?</p><p>Through sheer curiosity, Bumblebee found that unlikely chance, but is he willing to take it? Especially knowing that his own end would come as unexpected and harsh as their continued strife against the Decepticons?</p><p>He's not that selfish, is he?</p><p>Amazing what desperation can lead even the most level-headed of mechs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bumbling Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Super old fic I'm rewriting again (the third time's a charm right??), this is also my first long story so it really is my baby and I can't leave it even if I want to. So enjoy! Anyone who deems this worthwhile, I thank you for your time.
> 
> Formerly known as "The Beginning of Our War", aka "Please, Let Him Go Back".
> 
> Tagging more characters as I go, no beta, archive warning will change. Probably.

It was in the middle of the night when Bumblebee’s tanks gurgled restlessly.

After not consuming proper energon portions for nearly a week, this was to be expected. In hindsight, he should have taken Ratchet's stern fatherly concern to spark, even more so his thinly veiled threat of him skewing his biological clock so hazardously. As stubborn as Bumblebee is, some consequences he just can't handle as well as he first imagined, especially an empty tank. Primus can throw all the stinky scrap heap he can find at him, but he can't keep the scout from denying his growing hunger.

Plus it was really affecting his systems.

He sighed at this, but sat up and went on his merry way to find an energon dispenser nonetheless. After three straight weeks of searching and recruiting the few Autobots that landed since Optimus' galactic broadcast, he had to go to each location via aircraft carrier together with the Prime, Ironhide and several NEST agents. Since then he's been affected by the strange autonomous robotic equivalent of a human _jetlag_. His processor works more actively at night and his fuel tanks aren’t filled as regularly as it should be. For that he got clumsier with basic motor skills, barely able to transform in the correct sequence to his alt mode. He found himself upside down more than once, almost crushing Mojo and demolishing Sam's mother's petunias.

The scout received more than one disappointed look that day.

So he was relieved of his responsibility from being a guardian, temporarily of course. Until he can manage to stabilize his internal chronometer naturally, his biological clock wouldn't tick his health back to shape. Despite being the first to land and dwell in the young organic planet, the presence of the sun along with different climates and time zones every few megametres, jetlags still pose a difficulty to the scout. Even so, Bumblebee wasn’t pleased with the doctor's order. Not at all happy with his new roster.

The yellow Camaro could only give the stinkiest of his stink eye to the medic as he's forced to adjust his current state to normal. This includes plenty of wake up calls by dawn and a good dose of sedative-hypnotic energon at night. It's the fourth day and he should be feeling all peachy with his chronometer by now. That is, if he's been the nice little bot he's supposed to be and obey good ol' Ratchet's instructions, instead of sneaking out and staying up all night racing like the petulant sparkling he is.

_Go to bed or I swear I'll manually reboot that empty yellow helm of yours._

Pffft. Like Ratchet would ever risk minor processor damage for a simple chrono fix... Unless he curbs his obsession (hobby, he still insists) for illegal street racing the medic might finally rain his wrath upon him and do his promise (threat) good. Mind you though, there's still a _might_ in that sentence.

Alas midnight escapades weren't his only misdemeanor. Somehow summoning the wit of a thousand special ops agents, he also managed to skip his strict scheduled refueling and get away with it, every single time of the day. Sedative-hypnotic energon tastes like slagheaps you get from Unicron's diarrhea, he'd argue.

When it comes to energon, Bumblebee can be worse than a petulant sparkling.

Overestimating his ability to fast, he didn't anticipate the intense feeling of starvation that'd assault both body and processor. So with this terribly famished state of mind in set, he wasn’t about to keep track of his already messed up schedule. Though he wasn't sure how long he could keep this up, because the humans here are terrifyingly boring.

He slithered out of his quarters with determination and sneaked away from the living area. After successfully managing to not wake his comrades, Bumblebee relaxed and started walking unhurriedly through the hangar. The next few moments past in a blur and the halls came together to form the long corridor that he came to recognize led to the medical bay, where the energon supply is located and watched by a fairly large and dangerous medic. He humorously thought of how similar Ratchet is to a doctor with serious moral ambiguity, and by ambiguous he meant _truly evil_ , the likes that'd have no qualms with growing organs inside his employees for black market purposes.

The enclosed space of their base, accompanied by darkness and silence is starting to become uncomfortable for him. He remembered a scene of a particularly bad horror movie and suddenly everything is eerie. He gave a loud sound imitating a gulp.

Perhaps watching multiple horror films every Friday isn’t such a good idea; he sticks an urgently important reminder for Sam on the back of his head. By all means it's not because of believing the validity of superstitions in said films, but fueling Bumblebee with images only horror movies are capable of producing were enough to do wonders in his mind.

War is one thing, sick psychopaths and vengeful spirits are another.

He gave a slight shiver. Seeing so many red should never disturb him, the dark should never scare him, and just thank the Allspark for not birthing clowns. Yet the more he thinks about it, furthermore reliving the pictures in his processor, the more jumpy he becomes. The more he panics, the more he’s getting delusional. And the more he gets delusional, the more he's about to lose his poop shoot. Turning on his headlights is as effective as fighting space barnacles with your bare protoform. Another urgently important reminder for Sam; destroy the abomination of a game he calls Slender.

Superficial moans and groans of the undead escaped his memory files, and he hears them as if they were in the corridor with him, dumbly yet rapidly making their way to him.

_'Why does the concept of zombies have to be logically possible?'_

He gritted his dentas, trying to ground himself from his imaginings. Take a breather, he'd say to himself, but the calm he so desperately needed could not reach him. He sensed the ghostly feeling of fingers grazing at him, clumsily, eagerly, for his armor and leaves him behind as scrap metal, nothing but a heap of lifeless protoform.

He finally snapped to his imagination and ran.

And behold how the scout ran. It was unfortunate that the distance wasn't as great as he'd imagined.

The door of the medbay slid open with a flat-faced Camaro, dazed from the impact. On the other side was a very irritated Ratchet - whose glare can probably burn anyone to death - peering at him. Just like that, the horrible choking sensation of his delirium vanishes, whilst cold hard reality finally slammed back. Literally.

“So polite of you to knock Bumblebee.” Ratchet said dryly, obviously disturbed by the unnecessarily loud noise. “Might I remind you the hour you dimwittedly decided to visit?" _It's half past three in the morning you fragger,_ "What is it that you want _now_? And why the frag aren't you asleep yet? I gave you a full dose a few breems ago.”

Bumblebee laughed faintly, kicking himself for his paranoia that prevented him to slink in and steal his prize, then said something so soft the medic strained his receptors to catch it.

“What?”

He said it again, but it ended up in gibberish.

“Would it kill you to speak clearer?”

Technically, in his case it can. So again more gibberish blurted through his vocalizer.

The medic, Primus bless his spark, merely tapped his foot impatiently to show Bumblebee just how much pain he would dish out if the scout doesn't cut the frag soon. The wrench on the corner of his table was tempting him. Bumblebee sputtered, knowing well how busted he is - and about to get a beating of his lifetime if another one of his half-baked excuses fell out of his mouth - decided to just get on with it.

“E-energon.”

"Finally something comprehensible, see how easy it is if you use your processor correctly for once? Saves you from looking like an idiot boy..."

A tense silence fell between them then. Ratchet's tired optics suddenly looked too bright and ready to kill, surely understanding the reason for Bumblebee's midnight snacks craving, let alone the reason why he's even awake. The smaller mech noticed his shaking, in rage or frustration he wasn't sure, the plates of his mouth are set in an ugly, terrifying scowl. He heard it, even though it wasn't said (or shouted), he heard what the medic failed to put in words but displayed through his furious expression.

_You skipped your nightly rations, AGAIN?!_

He fucked up.

Despite that, instead of lashing out Ratchet vented out a long stream of hot air through his nose. Bumblebee winced in preparation of the imminent verbal tongue-lashing.

“No.” The medic gritted out before swiftly turning his back on the relieved scout.

Once more a bullet was dodged.

Although the answer should have been enough to make him scat, where's the fun if you don't tempt fate once in a while. And by once in a while, he certainly meant all the time. If it doesn't kill you (yet), keep trying until it does. That's how you learn your lesson after all.

He supposed he can dodge another few rounds.

“Aww Ratch," He started with an annoyingly low beep reminiscent of a dying turbomice. "Can’t I just have a little sip? My fuel tank really needs something. If I don’t have some I wouldn’t go to sleep anyways ‘cause _this_ will keep rumbling.” The yellow mech tried reasoning, pointing at his stomach region.

And as if on cue, his abdomen growled rather loudly. Ratchet was less than impressed.

"Good, because that would finally teach your stubborn aft a lesson or two about skipping my completely well-intentioned rounds of medical shots, and 'scrap-tasting' prescriptions now wouldn't it?"

Bumblebee only whined louder, refused to be guilty.

"Keep doing that, maybe if you wail an octave higher I'll listen to you."

He made a series of despairing clicks.

"Bee you are such a _sparkling_."

A long, droned out crescendo of a high-pitched screech pierced Ratchet's audio receptors. The wrench ultimately came in handy.

Bumblebee may be able to dodge bullets, but wrenches? Yeah, he's still working on that.

"I liked you way better when you were mute, you insolent little glitch. At least you get to be cute when you're annoying." Ratchet said while he weld the small cut on the yellow mech's nasal ridge, “If you eat now you’ll get energized and won’t be sleeping until morning comes, I have no doubt you'll resist taking the sedative-hypnotic too.”

Bumblebee had the decency to be silent, acknowledging, and guilt-ridden. Hah.

"'Was just hungry." Grumbled the mech.

His CMO rolled optics at that, "And you wouldn't be if you had just followed every single instructions I gave. I know you've had a happy, solitary, if slightly rebellious life here but we're with you now, and whatever habits you picked up needs to stop. The war is now on earth, you won't have time to be this ignorant and selfish about yourself. By putting your body in such a state the consequences will not only fall to you but also to the lives that are on your shoulders. Have you forgotten what it is like to possess that sort of burden? Or do I have to lecture you about this, over and over _and over_ again?"

"Ratch."

A black and yellow hand stilled the ones welding his nose, preventing the emotional medic from singeing his whole face. The freshly repaired nasal ridge uncomfortably tingled his sensors, signaling Bumblebee that it was close to melting point, but he steadily held the larger mech's gaze. If he hadn't stopped him the metal would have probably looked like slag by now, as Ratchet was so lost in his ramblings. Ratchet rarely lost himself when he's in a procedure.

He really fucked up.

"I'm sorry."

It's a simple two-worded sentence, but nonetheless holds all the remorse and honesty Bumblebee wanted to deliver.

The blue optics that was so full of anger softened, the fire behind it dissipating.

“Okay, but I don't want to see any more of your carelessness around simple treatments, Primus knows this jetlag of yours has gone on longer than it should. This chronometer is going to be fixed today." By today he actually meant tomorrow. "In the mean time, I guess you can drink half a ratio of normal energon, and then say hi your good friend sedative. Though to make it easier for you I suppose an injection is necessary now.”

Bumblebee shivers at the mentioning of a shot but nodded.

“Wait here while I get the things. And for the love of Primus, don’t fragging touch anything.” With those words Ratchet disappeared to the back of the med bay. He wouldn’t trust the scout on getting the energon either.

Meanwhile Bumblebee crossed his arms and sat sleepily on the medical table beside the wall. He shuttered his optics off, the fatigue starting to take its toll again. He really is tired, but his treacherous stomach growled, waking him from his short nap. Cursing lightly, he adjusted himself and leaned unto the wall, unknowingly pressing a few button with his weight.

It was no surprise that he jerked at a monotonous sound of “ **INCORRECT PASSWORD** ”

He would have blasted whatever it was square off the wall if it weren’t for the fast reaction of his sensory detector. The camouflaged looking console is glaring at him with the silent red beeps of its light. Bumblebee sighed, disengaging his blasters. This must be one of Ratchet’s hidden keyboards to a medical drawer, and the medic has so many of those to keep intruding mechs or humans from taking his highly limited medicine stock. Of course, he never really got a good look of them. Bumblebee remembered how a certain hellion tried to take a peek and ended up getting a very large dent across his forehead. Along with other sorts of injuries.

To put it bluntly, they needed to make an emergency operation.

He chuckled at the thought, but it disappeared as he recalled a certain topic they discussed, one where he overheard.

 

**-**

 

Sideswipe is hurt, very, very hurt. His head throbbed, his left optic blind, arms twisted a little, and it hurts so much just thinking about it. At least he is out of serious danger.

How he often forget the infamous temper of Chief Medical Officer Ratchet.

It felt horrible being in the emergency room, in the middle of cables, needles and screens, just downright nauseating. So many beeping and ksshing and zzzzzting and - _ugh_ \- all of them are annoying as pit (yes even the drip drop of the energon IV). His immobility through the whole situation created an uneasy and vulnerable sensation. He wasn't the biggest fan when it came to painkillers too, or the improvised inhibitor that kept him still throughout the whole procedure. Ratchet also made sure he was conscious as some sort of sick punishment. The sword enthusiast groaned at the mere thought of it, even the various utensils made him want to purge his empty tanks.

Though he's glad he's out of there so soon, the memory won't be going anywhere for a while.

“Sideswipe.”

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

It was Ratchet's.

“Oh hey,” The tired mech looked over the Hummer cautiously. He kept his guard up as reflex. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No,” Ratchet scoffed while his optics rolled in its socket, “What makes you say that?” Sideswipe relaxed and shrugged. “Well anyways, the results of the diagnosis of your processor came out positive - congratulations on not making yourself any more of an idiot - however your body needs to be out of action for a while. Other than that you’re good to leave my med bay.”

“Oh great!” The _supposedly tired_ Sideswipe happily exclaimed while he jumped out of the berth, which proved to be a horrible for his healing processor, and slumped back down with a groan.

“Hey, hey, take it easy!” Ratchet waved his arms as he scolded him, “You might be fine but you still need to be careful.”

Sideswipe grumbled, “Does pulling my cables mean I have to be here longer?”

“Not necessarily,” The medic said while putting the datapad away. “You'll get over it as per usual, but if you're as careless to your condition as you usually are then I suggest you stay for another cycle.”

Sideswipe gave out an unnecessarily loud scoff.

“Thank you but no thank you, I’m very much capable of taking care of myself.” _I'm not staying even a nanoclick more in this Primus forsaken pit you call a medbay._

“Suite yourself then. Don't come crying to me if your central nervous system shuts down on itself.” Ratchet said shrugging. “But I warn you Sideswipe, if I ever catch you and your bony aft back here trying to get in _that_ room again,” His optics turned icy and his voice was low with a growl “I’ll make sure you’re properly built into a toaster, strapped to a dead carcass and throw you to the deepest, darkest - sickest - part of the universe, and let you sleep with the sharkticons."

Sideswipe's optics darkens with grim understanding, and nodded.

“I know, I know, rat on you and there will be a toaster grave. Went kinda overkill with that one Ratch."

"I'm pretty serious about that, you know exactly what I can do with my extensive medical data core."

"Yeah write me speech will you? I know when I'm beat, dear Sigma." Sideswipe let out an exasperated sigh, "I just hope you’ll be able to finish what you started.” He got up slowly and walked towards the exit, before he step outside, he murmured softly, “But don’t overdo yourself, I don't wanna know what would happen to everyone if you don't have our backs."

The door slid shut, and the silver mech missed his reply.

“This is worth it Sideswipe, he's always worth it.”

Unknowingly, a certain scout was awake at the right - or dreadfully wrong - time to hear everything.

 

**-**

 

That time, He was admitted to the bay along with Ironhide from an earlier extraction somewhere in northern Asia, they had encountered heavy resistance from a surprisingly well-erected makeshift base housing a few Cons. Despite their best to delay the Autobots from investigating that area for a strange anomaly, his and Ironhide's combined firepower was more than enough to overcome a small number of stray foot soldiers. However Bumblebee didn't come out unscathed, and a broken doorwing isn't the lightest of pains. After the area was secured NEST took over their investigation, relieving the scout from prolonging his numbed sensor nets. He went first, Ironhide wanting to finish his report on the mission to brief Optimus as soon as he can. Leaving him to eavesdrop on the conversation alone.

Curiosity suddenly poked at him with a stick, a very large stick.

Just who is the mech they're talking about?

The yellow scout was silent for a moment, his tired processor racing. Would this really be a good idea to try and hack the console and see what it would show? Would risking Ratchet’s undeniably life-threatening vengeance - e.g. Sideswipe - be worth it? Would doing this unravel something the medic is possibly hiding?

Pffft, of course not, there’s nothing but medicines right? No corpse or hanging body parts or some sort of sick attempt at necromancy or-his imagination is running a thousand miles a minute again. He shook his head roughly, trying to convince himself that there is nothing but the mundane. He’s just curious on which drawer it would open, yes that’s it: he just wanted to know what kind of doohickeys Ratchet actually kept. He's totally thinking of uniquely shaped scalpels, various sized needles and improvised saws instead of any conspiracy the medic's keeping away. Despite that, it still kept incisively poking. Persuading him that it's something different, that this console is the one that will reveal him the answer to all his not-so-illegible conspiracy theories.

He shook his head again.

Doing this definitely risks getting his arm chopped off, at the _least_. The horrid toaster grave Sideswipe described being the worse. Both option doesn’t seem very appealing either way.

But then again, some things are worth losing a limb.

“Hey Bee!” Ratchet's voice rang as he called the yellow mech from the other room.

Said yellow mech turned around with breakneck speed.

“Y-es?” He cursed silently for stuttering.

“Is it ok if you wait for a little while longer? The energon dispenser isn’t working right.”

Despite the loud grumble of his stomach, Bumblebee replied, and with a little too much glee, “Yeah, s’okay. Just take your time. It’s not like I’ll go anywhere with this stomach.” He laughed dryly.

Somehow, in the back of his mind, he heard Ratchet face palming.

He couldn't believe his dumb luck. Just like a moth that couldn't resist the light of a fire, the scout heeded to the cat of his curiosity. Approaching the panel again, he extended the thinner, longer fingers - for convenient hacking purposes - from his bulkier ones and plucked a cable to the port of the console. Hordes and hordes of data came rushing through his processor, the human-based hardware showing basic binary numbers 1 and 0, coming and going rapidly. He scanned every one of them, searching for the correct sequence, typing rapidly on the keyboard. Seconds passed by and it felt like hours for him with the looming threat of the giant medic in the next room. Why must he tempt fate more than thrice a day?

A few warning windows popped up to his processor, and before he knew it, his systems numbed. Bumblebee stifled a yell as the console shocked him with electricity, a ‘ting’ sound was heard, and for a moment he thought he'd made a mistake.

He is so slagged.

He could already feel his tanks falling as his energon turn cold in his pipes, irregular spark beats thrummed hard and nervous, but the telltale sound of “ **PASSWORD GRANTED** ” made him almost literally jump for joy. Thank the AllSpark for joint Autobot-human technology. The relief is short-lived though.

Primus knows what would happen to him if Ratchet founds out he overrode the console.

There was a hiss and he snapped his head to the source of the noise. Immediately his optics widen as what he is seeing is not what he is expecting. Instead of the small drawer he presume to come out (well not really, but he had hopes), the cabinets shifted about and reveals a door, where it leads he rather not know.

Or does he?

_The answer lies right there. You know you'll never live with yourself if you don't do this._

The scout’s fingers twitched, doorwings drooping and antennas held high.

His conscious has a point.

His optics creased as he frowned, processor stirring in unease. With five long strides he reached the door, with a press of a button the door slid open, and with a determination he walked steadily towards the darkness. Bumblebee’s tanks kept quiet though it turns slightly at his anxiety. As his optics adjusted to the dark environment he was able to make out the objects before him in this daftly cramped up space.

There’s nothing but a small dim light, illuminating something lying on a medical berth.

Something small, metallic, and definitely Cybertronian.

Something grey.

It shone in the most familiar of greys.

_Holy fucking slag._

“BUMBLEBEE!!!”

The thrilling shriek didn’t snap him out of his daze, he hardly even felt the hand that pulled him nor the shouting between two mechs. Everything in the world seemed to halt as he kept staring at the body before him, stunned at this revelation. Somewhere in between he finally struggled, escaped from the grasps of the mechs trying to keep him away, and he reached for the table. He took a good long look, vents hitching unevenly, optics seeing but still unbelieving. It felt like a dream, with everything running so slowly, it's as if time stopped for him. He went to feel the face, peacefully calm and oblivious of the commotion, as if he isn't really dead.

Just asleep.

There was a sharp pain between his shoulders, and then the soft sound of sedatives being injected reached his audios. The liquid entered the energon stream that ran straight into his processor. Before he knew it his legs are shutting down, his processor decelerated, and the last thing in his thoughts before his drug-induced stasis was the name of his former friend.

 _It_ is _him._


	2. Opening a Bottle Full of Pent-Up-Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet finds out how heavy a baggage the young scout is carrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, you can tell their characterization aren't fully movie-wise.
> 
> Hope they're not too out of character though.

_'Hey Bee!'_

_Jazz shouted into our comm link as he sped up to reach me. Even in our vehicle mode I can feel him giving me one of his toothy grin. I only wish to see it. I gave him a chirp, energy fields flaring as I drove closer to him, I was so happy to see him again._

_'Are you okay? Did they hurt you?'_

_'—ey--kay, I’m fi--just fin--' I replied. Receiving messages aren't a problem, but it seems that the broadcast hardware of the comm broke during my incarceration._

_'You sure? Your energy signature is low as pits.'_

_'It's - othin -- can't hand - Put me in - a high secur -- containme - area but agai-- othing I - an't handle.'_

_I left it at that. I know he worries about me, and I'd be sooner damned than to tell him about my real condition._

_He considered my words, and if I could see his optics I knew they'd be boring me right to my spark. Jazz has a knack at being able to look beyond what he sees - having one of the more rare optic colors probably helped too - but all he has now are my words and energy signature, which I keep a tight lid on for more reasons than as this._

_'You can keep telling me otherwise, but I have a feeling you're not and you know my feelings,'_ They're almost always right.

 _Now I'm a little nervous, because truth to be told, he_ is _right._

_My spark's been beating irregularly since I was freed, contact with the AllSpark did nothing but intensify it. I suspect it's because of the dark energy that coursed through the corrupted cube, but I can't really be sure. The mission is the only thing that mattered then, and it's the only thing that's mattering now. I can get a thorough diagnostics from the doc later. The only being that is making things harder for me is the bot driving right next to me._

_'Come on,' Jazz said encouragingly, taking my silence as a yes, continuing the conversation when I didn't want it to, 'You can tell me, you know I gotcha back. We're on the way to one of the greatest battle we'll ever face in the next few centuries, and I don’t wanna go there without knowing what’s wrong with you.'_

_Jazz, I really want to, but I can't. It wouldn't be fair for you to needlessly worry._ _You have to understand that I want you to be selfish, just stay alive, do it for me._

_Yet instead I say, 'Being in solit - onfineme -- as long as I've - the strain, it ge - t'you that's all.'_

_His engines revved, and I knew then that he didn't buy my attempted BS, his frustration is so evident in that one loud roar that it's almost palpable._

_'Bumblebee,' He said in his most authoritative, no-nonsense voice worthy of a second-in-command. 'What, did the humans do to you?'_

_For a moment my mind snapped back to Hoover Dam just a few hours ago, to the horrible agony I just went trough, my sensors ringing with the ghosting sensations of frostbites, electric shocks and human hands prodding every inch of my alien body. The room stank of sterilized equipment and energon -_ my energon _\- no doubt so they could dissect me for the name of their science. The light illuminating the room is the sort of clinical light that only shone in miserable places such as this; too bright and white, glaring at you without warmth. I see a mirror, and in my line of vision I can see my spark chambers forced open and laid vulnerable, the beating blue light inside pulsed erratically as they jolted me with bursts of whatever-it-is as I begged and screamed, and pleaded them to stop, stop - please - I beg you-_

_STOP_

_A loud explosion jarred me from my trance and I'm driving down the road again, the sun rising high above the sky as it warmed my platings - and not those damned lifeless fluorescent lights. Sam and Mikaela started yelling, and that's when I realized how fast Bonecrusher is racing to reach us, to reach me for the AllSpark._

_I floored it, maneuvering the traffic smoothly to keep distance with Jazz shortly on my tail. A few bullets passed overhead, piercing through weak-metaled cars, some erupted into flames while others swerved in panic. If I hadn't reacted on time they would have hit though my windshields, hit one of the kids. Sam could have died. Inwardly I cursed at that inopportune flashback._

**_[Proceed the mission without me, I will dispose of Bonecrusher.]_ **

_I didn't get to fully comprehend the order until Optimus started transforming and engaging the Con head on. Jazz flared his energy field, like an elbow-nudge to my arm (a very hard nudge in fact), waking me from another stupor._

_'What is_ wrong _with you? Bee, Bonecrusher was literally clicks away from getting a good shot on your skidplate!'_

 _'I - I know I --ow, I'm sorry I h - a minor me - ory feedback -'_

_'Minor? MINOR?! Do you know how many times we pinged your comm? One of those burning cars could've been you!'_

_I didn't say anything, couldn't say anything actually, just a weak whine. My spark was beating too hard against its casing._

_'J - a - zz'_

_I could tell he was stunned, suddenly understanding what's happening to me, because the next thing I knew he was trying to calm me down. The harsh flare of his fields subsided into a soothing flow, with it mingling against mine, you can say I was almost immediately placated. We drove a little further from Ratchet and Ironhide just so they couldn't see that I'm on the verge of having a panic attack._

_'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Primus Bee I'm_ really _sorry. I didn't realize you were-'_

_'Hey shh - sh I - It's o - ok, I'm ok.'_

_It was almost ironic how our position of comforter-to-comforted quickly turned._

_'You just did yell - ed beca - se you love - e, right?'_

_I meant it as a joke, to try and lighten our situation because I hate seeing him sad, but he didn't laugh._

_'Ja - zz?'_

_'Bumblebee I need to be clear with you.' He said in a voice I don't recognize._

_Usually, this is when a startling revelation comes to light, and today I was not disappointed._

_'Before we step into hell with the Cons, I have to tell you that I was worried sick about your aft. Like, I was_ so _worried you wouldn't even believe-' He stopped as he started to stutter, coughed and righted himself. 'I-I thought the last we'd ever saw each other was at that damned Sek-7 bust, and that the last I'll ever remember of you is the image of you lubricating on that agent.' He laughed then, and I'll admit that was one of the best joke I've had, 'Because as great as that was I didn't want it to stop there, I wanted to see more,' Cough, 'More of you specifically.'_

 _Well did_ that _gave me the dokis. Slag, I wish I could see his face right about now._

_'The worry I felt, it was... different, from Tyger Pax, and when we lost you at Ghost 1. And I realized, how much I care about you Bee, I don't know what I'd do with myself if you hadn't managed to escape...'_

_Am I really hearing what I'm hearing? Are my receptors deceiving me? Is my comm link a lot more broken than I thought? Is Jazz really declaring his bottled up feelings to me now? Actually reciprocating my own?! Or have I finally died and am having the greatest fantasy coming to life?_

_I didn't realize it, but my spark was thumping super hard at this moment that I worried I might have a spark attack._

_'So Bee, I need to tell you that I-'_

**_[Autobots,]_ **

_The loud and certainly unwelcomed voice of our leader boomed in on our public comm._

**_[Bonecrusher is disposed of, but I'm afraid I must take a detour, I'm not sure how long my delay will be. Keep the boy and the cube safe at all cost, I fear extraction would not be as simple as Lieutenant Lennox has relayed to Bumblebee.]_ **

_Our radio channel cuts into silence, and Jazz did not continue to speak. A heavy tension fell between us. Like, it's so heavy, I'd classify thus a Megatron-level tension, I'm not even kidding. I fought an agitated growl from escaping._

By the AllSpark PRIME!

 _You know what, screw it. An eye for an eye, right?_

_'I'm d - ying.'_

_'What?'_

_'Jazz I thi - ink I'm dy - ng.' I let it out slow, let him digest the words fully, I owe my friend this much, 'Ev - er since the kidn - ap, and the expe -iments they did to me I - I felt di - erent.' I pause, trying to find the words, 'My sp - ark hasn't been t - he same. Does - n't feel the s - ame. I'm afr - id that it'd st - p beating at so - me point. That's why I - coul - nt concentrate, that's wha - I didn't want t - tell you...'_

_He let out a quiet 'Oh' before another silence fell between us, uncomfortable but quite relieving. Death should be a regular occurrence for us, but even desensitized it never really got easier, especially between friends - close friends - it's just a lot quicker to hide. I guess there's also a difference when it comes to knowing you will die one day, instead of going into the uncertainty of a battle. Hope plays a big part in everything, and right now, there aren't any we can see._

_'Well Bee, thanks, for trusting me.'_

_Before either of us could say anything more, Lennox announced our arrival in Mission City._

_I steered close to him until we were just inches from touching._

_A good luck bump, I suppose. Jazz'd smile at that._

_I was so ready to die that day, because honestly, all the odds were against me; seconds away from a robotic cardiac arrest, recently tortured and traumatize, then crippled, and forced to depend on Mikaela for mobility. It wouldn't be a surprise if I were included in the casualty list, my name lost in the thousands who also died that day. But the world's got another thing coming, didn't it?_

_Disorder, randomness, lack of predictability._

_Entropy wanted Jazz._

_The Jazz that stood by me when I crawled out of the rubble, the Jazz that took on a Decepticon more than twice his size, the Jazz that risked his life to get the innocents to safety, paid the ultimate price to buy Sam precious time._

"I love you, Bumblebee."

_And Entropy always wins._

**-**

 

“Bumblebee.” 

Ratchet said softly while shaking the yellow mech on the berth.

When said mech didn't show any signs of consciousness, or any hitch in his brainwave activity, he gave an exasperated sound. He checked on Bumblebee's vitals for the umpteenth time - even though the last four checks displayed the same results - and then slumped beside the still sleeping form, “Argh! Frag you and you're weak cognitive condition, Bee!”

Silence and dimness became his friend as the tired sun began to disappear behind the mountain. The autumn wind cools the room from the open window, the breeze brushing the medic’s gloomy face, optics shutting off. The day came to an end with Bumblebee still being in stasis. Maybe he had put a little too much dose, or maybe Bumblebee had a processor metldown, or maybe nothing is wrong and he really is just being a worrywart but damn him if the Prime's favorite is going to rat him out on breaching regulations. In his suspenseful thinking he almost abandon all his Autobot morals and was about to perform a mind-sweep on Bumblebee's memory core, but caught himself as he was picking up the tools.

That just won't do.

“He’s still not awake?” A voice suddenly said behind him. Ratchet swore at his jumping spark, but managed to answer evenly.

“No.” That made the black mech sigh, “He’s still as lifeless as that brain of yours.”

Ironhide gave the snickering medic a slap on the head. “And you’re still as stubborn and senile as an organic having their monthly heat.” Ratchet pouted at being called an organic but refrained himself from losing his temper. That would only prove the statement.

Instead the medic gave him a pfft and walked over to a counter with Ironhide in tow. Pondering about the last alterative he could do, Ratchet mentally browsed through his medical files - some dating back way before the war - and found an interesting equation to an interesting concoction. He began to take out various objects and a few colored serums from his giant-sized cupboards and hidden latches. Ironhide watched, briefly intrigued before giving an imitation of a cough. “Well anyways,” he said as he leaned his shoulders against the wall, “How are you gonna tell Prime ‘bout this?”

Ratchet slowly began mixing the fluids he collected and arranged neatly on a table, “Well he’s not back from Peru yet,” He said as he inspects the blue liquid turning to a shade of pink. “So I’d say I have just the time to get him back to normal. Of course, with all things considered, if this old recipe - I plucked out from an extremely outdated report on Smokescreen, can you imagine that? - works, Bumblebee’s cerebral systems should be stable enough for me to coerce him awake from his stasis.”

The black mech scoffed, “Let’s just hope that little time of yours is enough. ‘Cuz he’s on his way back so to speak.”

“When had he left?” He said while heating the vile, voice borderline edgy.

“A few cycles before I went to see you.”

“I see,” He waited while the solution cooled, then started shaking, the serum turning to a bright shade of yellowish green as its disturbed, “Then we definitely have enough time left.”

“You’re so sure of yourself.” Ironhide said, not amused.

Ratchet finished and stored the solution in a compartment on his arm before turning to Ironhide, a small smile plastered on his face, “Of course I am, _dearest_.”

The weapon specialist opened his mouth to retort but found that he couldn’t, as the medic’s lip covered his own. Before he was aware of the kiss, Ratchet had already moved away from him. “If I’m not, you wouldn’t have been able to meet me.”

Ironhide blinked a couple of times, surprised at the chaste peck his bondmate gave him. Seconds passed and his surprise immediately turns into delight. He gave a lopsided grin to the medic before laughing, grabbing him by the waist and pulling the taller body against his broad torso.

“You really were stupid for answering back.” The black mech said, staring at the loving azure optics before him. “And now, you’re stuck with me.” That made Ratchet laugh as he placed his hands on Ironhide’s cheek plates, and pulled him closer to his face.

“Couldn’t be happier.”

They kissed, forgetting for the moment the stress they were both under. Exchanging a sweet trill between their bond, Ratchet hummed in their kiss, but broke it without reluctance.

"Now put me down before I spill corrosive acid all over you stupid face."

 

-

 

_Okay, here goes nothing. Or probably, everything._

He injected the recently made serum into the yellow mech’s collar, its yellow-green content sinking into the main energon line, once again taking the direct path to the patient’s central processor. Bumblebee instantly twitched and stirred, the monitor sensing heightened awareness in the form of wave patterns, increasing its peak until it reached its intended normalcy. Ratchet let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Then he started shaking the yellow mech awake.

There was a keen whine, no doubt from his patient being highly annoyed, whose trying to shrug the offending hand off of him. That's when Bumblebee suddenly flopped over to his belly with a soft 'Ten more minutes please' gurgling out of his vocalizer. Ratchet restrained himself from pushing the scout off the berth.

"Well! In case you haven't known, long beautiful naps aren't exactly allowed in our line of work. So wake, thE FRAG, UP!"

The medic's crescendo of a shout - and the violent smack following after - effectively jarred him awake. A groan met him, and the optics of the scout finally sparked online, albeit dimly, and immediately met the worn but fiery gaze of the medic.

"Flop over again and I swear to Primus I'm getting my wrench.”

Bumblebee blinked rapidly as he struggled to sit up, his systems still sluggish from stasis.

“Come on, on your feet, you’ve slept enough. Any more and you’ll be jetlagged again and I don’t have all day to keep watch of your smelly yellow carcass.”

“Ahh-ya, yeah I’m up.” Bumblebee groaned again, gaze roaming the room, “How long have I..?”

“29 hours and 42 minutes. I had to keep you here because you fell into stasis lock after having to wait for me - apologies for taking so long - getting you energon. Remember? You came here to refuel, but didn't get to stay conscious for it from your astonishingly lack of energy. Primus, you know how much you’ve worried me?” Ratchet lied smoothly while helping Bumblebee up. 

"That's uh, that's not exactly how I remembered my evening went."

If Ratchet was nervous, he didn't show it.

"Then how do you remember it?"

It took a while for the scout to have his programs running operationally again, saving the bigger mech from further suspense and negative thinking.

"Um, not much actually? I think I opened a door, and went in-"

"Then what?"

Bumblebee scrunched his face at the interruption. _Rude_.

"Nothing, it stopped there. Is that when I-"

"Yes, when you fell unconscious. I found you lying there-" Neon green finger pointed at the door opposite to him, the furthest spot from the trap door, "-already deep in stasis. You almost gave me a spark attack."

To Bumblebee's credit, he didn't show his grimace.

Apparently there are more than a few things left untold here. The scout is well aware of that fact.

"Look Ratch, it's not that I don't trust you," He said while putting a hand on Ratchet's shoulder, "But I don't trust you." The hand was immediately shrugged off.

Bumblebee sighed, "It just doesn't add up ok? Your story I mean, I know my energy was depleted but I still had my reserves - as desperate as it'd be to use it - I couldn't have gone into stasis just like that." His blue eyes, usually so cheery, was icy and apprehensive as he glared at the medic, "Not unless something - or someone - forced me to."

The guilty mech wasn't the least bit fazed that his story was blown wide open.

"You were snooping around." He countered.

"And what did I found?" The smaller mech scoffed, "If you were as innocent as you claim you are I wouldn't have come across anything _interesting_ to report to Prime."

"You didn't."

"Or did I?"

"Funny coming from an active soldier suffering from irregular circulatory pulsation. Did you report Prime about _that_ interesting tidbit?"

"Touché."

"Indeed."

So they have reached an impasse. With the yellow mech looking more mortified than Ratchet does, yet still stubborn enough to keep his optics trained on the medic. Even if Bumblebee was unaware exactly what the other mech was hiding, his knowledge of the trap door is enough to give Ratchet a run for his energon. It's unfortunate that said energon is his own secret. If Optimus Prime were to know one of his only few frontliner is medically unfit for duty, he'd be ground-sided for weeks, months maybe, depending how nice Ratchet would be, and Ratchet is anything but strict to his patients. Nonetheless it was the larger mech that relented and broke his gaze, sighing in frustration.

"Listen, Bee, I'm sorry, we shouldn't be doing this to each other."

Blinking in surprise, Bumblebee took the apology with a bashful rub of his neck, "Yeah, blackmailing one another isn't exactly the right means for cooperation." He gave a wry smile, "I'm sorry too, Ratch. No hard feelings?"

"Of course not." He huffed while returning the smile with his own tired one, "But by Primus, we shouldn't have been keeping secrets in the first place. Why didn't you tell me you were having problems with your spark?" Ratchet said, slightly horrified now that they had a chance to talk about the issue. It's been worrying him for months yet he knew Bumblebee would have avoided a direct confrontation.

Yellow and black fingers fidget against each other, "Why didn't you tell me you were hiding something in the back of your med bay?"

"Hey, matters of functionality always come first with your Chief Medical Officer," Ratchet replied as a matter of fact, "And also, I asked first you little glitch."

"Well, uh... I, uh - agh frag it."

Here comes the emotional train wreck of a bomb he's going to drop.

Bumblebee let out a deep breath before straightening and continued, "I don't know, okay? I didn't feel like I wanted to be fixed. I mean maybe I don't want to? I'm tired, pit I'm not even half your age and I'm already _tired_ , and - although you do a very great job in patching me up all the damn time - _I don't wanna do this anymore_. So I figured, that if none of you - or my survival instincts - would let me die, another more subtler, more insignificant, thing would." He finally admitted, guilty of the suicidal thoughts yet unapologetic.

"I'm so sick of it, Ratch. I'm sick of the Decepticons always having the upper hand, I'm sick of us holding back for the sake of morals, I'm sick of seeing friends becoming enemies, and us killing each other. I'm just so _sick_ of seeing everyone dying. I can't take it anymore now that Jazz-" He sputtered at the name. Recounting the events of Mission City, he remembered the memory feedback he had just a few hours ago. "Jazz..." Ignoring the sharp pain in his chest, he continued, "He didn't have to - I mean I expected different, Primus it should have been _different_ \- I - There was so much I wanted to say to him and he was gonna... he-! UGH! It's so fragging complicated!"

The fists that were clenched so tightly slowly relaxed as the moment passed. Bumblebee didn't mind the fact that coolant - tears of anger and frustration - is still leaking from his face. He coughed his windpipe open.

"I was pretty sure we were... we were gonna have a talk, together, after the big mission. I doubted my ability to survive it, but since I am - alive I mean - I've had a lot more time to think about that than I probably should. Man, do I wish he's here with us." He didn't need to elaborate what kind of talk it was going to be. The heartbreak was clear in his voice. "So if it's alright with you, I'd like to have my current state of 'teetering on the edge of death and oblivion' unchanged, please."

He could see the pity in those optics, and _hated_ it, especially knowing that he brought it upon himself.

Rendered slightly speechless, Ratchet rubbed the scout's back to ease him from his pent up emotions. He had always expected this, sweet young Bumblebee coming undone, after all no one can escape the inevitable breakdown from millenniums of misery and war, yet even with all the time in the world, Ratchet is still unprepared. This mech sitting before him, is not Bumblebee, he sure doesn't look like Bumblebee. The mech he knew is always shining with his own warmth, is sincere and joyful, is quiet but when he spoke he does so like a leader. This is the rawest he's seen of Bumblebee since the mission at Tyger Pax.

"I'm afraid I must digress, lieutenant." The medic stated as he rubbed the yellow mech's helm fondly, "Losing you is not an option."

"Losing anyone is never anyone's option Ratch."

"It is for war, you know as well as I how it has a knack at deciding that for us. But if there's anything I can do otherwise, so help me I will do everything I can." Optics burned bright with determination,  "I want you to live, Bee. Slaggit I _need_ you to live." _Don't do this to me, don't leave me too._

Dumbfounded by the officer's resolve, Bumblebee sighed, for what seemed like the umpteenth time in a joor. Although it was no surprise that Ratchet would be completely against his request, he didn't think he'd voice it with so little words, but with so much passion. "I guess I have no choice, do I?" That wry smile is back on his face, a little less sarcastic and a little more sincere. 

"Not when my rusty old aft still has anything to say about it."

"Whatever you say, Doc."

"Don't call me that."

They laughed together at that. A few breems passed as they float down from that intense confession, lightly bantering between them. Ratchet performed a full diagnostic scan on the scout, especially the spark, and discharged Bumblebee out of the med bay, also cautioning him on overworking himself -  _And dear Primus, stop your damned street racing_. Among other things, the medic started nagging the younger bot about his responsibility. Endlessly mothering him about fixing his recharging schedule, proper energon intake, escaping patrol duty, and of course, urged him to ping the officer whenever he feels something strange going on with his spark. Yes, even if it's just a hiccup.

Ratchet may have been the mech in charge of Bumblebee since he and his batch brother's construction, but that doesn't mean he should play favoritism.

"Alright Ratch, I get it, comm you if I ever feel off-"

"Immediately."

"Yes, ASAP, and request for anyone-"

"Even the humans."

"EVEN the humans - dear Primus - to help me get back to you. Ugh, stick a note on my aft will you?" The look that met him was unimpressed. "Bottom line; I get it. Don't need to be a badger about it. Seriously, I'll heed your friendly doctoral advices."

"Those are orders, not advices." The medic retorted.

"Whatevs ok? I spilled my can of beans," There was glint in his optics that Ratchet didn't like, "Now it's your turn. What have you been hiding in there?"

Bumblebee asked, pointing at the innocent wall across them. Deciding to ignore the strange human term, Ratchet pursed his mouth in unease, absolutely uncomfortable with disclosing the subject. Now that he's heard Bumblebee's story, and the feelings the scout most definitely held for the mech whose body he's currently concealing, he felt somewhat awkward. Maybe a tad bit guilty too.

He exhaled a heavy vent.

"Why don't I show you instead?"

 

-

 

“I see you two had fun.”

They both jerked at the sudden intrusion, the trap door closing shut a fraction of a second too fast and grazed the tip of one of Bumblebee's doorwings. Ironhide stood at the front of the door as the scout jolted and crashed against Ratchet. The medic, unhinged by the earlier surprise, lost his balance and fell in a heap. Ratchet groaned at his cackling bondmate, but nonetheless felt the questioning tug in his spark the black mech gave through the bond.

"Very funny, Ironhide."

"You're damn right it is."

"Shut up and help us up, you wretched spawn of Unicron."

Ironhide tsked before heaving the smaller mech off the medic with ease. "You could've asked nicely, you know."

"Since when has that ever bothered you? You're not going soft on me are you?"

"Ah well, I might have developed a bit of a paunch over here, but you can trust that I'm still 'hard' anywhere else darlin'."

If that wasn't suggestive enough, Ironhide's expression is out of the question. He could just see the non-existent metallic eyebrows the black mech is wiggling, while Ratchet's annoyed face got slightly less annoyed and a little more starry-eyed. Contrary to popular belief, Bumblebee _is_ old enough to read between the lines.

"Oh-KAY! Even without the details I think I have heard _quite_ enough, please excuse me from further audio abuse." The embarrassed scout said as he shrugged Ironhide's hands off him and inched away hurriedly.

"You're so melodramatic, Bee." Ironhide joked.

"No, noo, no. This is just me not wanting to be traumatized by old mech bedroom talk."

The elder mech's look was almost hurt. He scoffed in return, "We're not _that_ old, you know."

 _Even though you've been my caretakers since basically forever ago?_ Thought Bumblebee.

"Just stop it you two," Ratchet waved his hand in dismissal, "While your banters will always amuse me, I want to know why Ironhide is here."

He felt the surprised tug in his spark, telling him that his bondmate has just remembered why he came to the med bay in the first place.

"Oh, right. Prime is here."

Ironhide winced as a sharp surge of electricity zapped his spark, reminiscent of a jab. Clearly his long-time lover does not appreciate the delayed update - he spared a glance towards the medic and found that spark-chilling glare - nope, not at all.

"Him and the rest of the troops he gathered." Immediately he could feel Bumblebee's silent excitement as it radiated through the room. "He found a team of 5 hiding their signatures in the middle of Lima, it's a miracle the Cons didn't reach them first. They're in hangar D24, he also wants a full debrief from everyone so all designated ‘bots are required to be present." Ironhide heartily chuckled at the scout's burst of static, "You alright, kid? Not blowing a transfusion are you?"

"Who did he find? Is it Camshaft? Brawn? Oh, I know! It's _Cliffjumper_ isn't it??"

Despite the exhaustion he felt, Bumblebee was literally jumping around the truck, begging to know who they are, antennas erected in attention like a cute turbopup would raise its ears.

"That's all well and good Ironhide, excellent news even. But I can't let Bee go just yet."

The incessant whine that followed would have been tear-jerking if it weren’t so annoying.

"Shut it, Bee." Ratchet snapped before he turned to Ironhide, "He just needs to refuel for a while, then he can go on his merry way to meet whoever it is the group Optimus found."

"But you discharged me just a few minutes ago!"

"Ah-yip yip yip! Doctor's orders."

"You just wanna take the fun out of everything I enjoy, don't you _Mom_?"

There were no more complaints after that; the yellow mech's face forcefully stuffed full with a few energon cubes. At least there were no wrenches involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop: More of Bumblebee's inner thoughts. Whoopee!
> 
> Chapters will be updated irregularly. Probably.

**Author's Note:**

> Getting back into writing is hard. Also, apologies if there are any mistakes!


End file.
